Cheyenne is a five or six-year-old Husky mix with a beautiful mask, a stumpy little tail with a white tip, and a wide smile – really!

She moved into our simple, four-square Victorian after a lifetime of living outside with a pack of other dogs. We expected her to love being warm and sheltered but, after a perfunctory sniff around the first floor and an encounter with two Tabbies who quickly ran the other way, she went directly to the dog door. I held the flap open for her, not sure if she’d ever used one before. She went through without difficulty and headed down the steps to the fenced backyard.

Certain she was safe, I went to the cupboard for dog treats, intending to earn her love by giving her one when she came back inside. Treat in hand, I went to the window, expecting to see her sniffing her surroundings and was just in time to see her racing away on the other side of the fence!

Half an hour later, after searching the neighborhood, I turned around to head home and found her standing behind me. Ha! I thought. She loves me already and came back to me. I brought her inside, let her out the back when she went to the door again, secure in the knowledge that while I was trying to find her, my husband had secured all holes in the fence. (The pickets had previously held in a 120 pound field Lab, and an English Mastiff, so small holes had not been a problem.) I watched her run to the fence, hunker down and seemingly reappear on the other side. Gone again! This time it took an hour to find her. More serious measures were taken with the fence and she wasn’t able to get out again. After a dinner of dry dog food the previous dogs had loved, she slept at the foot of our bed. We had a new family member – we thought.

Next day, I went to work and my artist-husband stayed home with Cheyenne. He ran a few errands and when he came home, his arms full of groceries, she ran past him as he opened the door. He called me at work, I hurried home, but this time our neighborhood search was futile. We called the police, the Shelter, and KMUN. After a tip from the police, Animal Control Officer Steve Hildreth found her in the hills behind Columbia Memorial Hospital and brought her home. He gave us good advice on giving her a little ‘den’ to call her own, to be vigilant when we opened the door, to be patient because she simply didn’t understand she was home yet. We considered ourselves experienced pet people (not pet ‘owners’ because just who owns who is always in question) but I think pets can be as unique as children and what works with one doesn’t work with another.

Anyway, Cheyenne and Ron and I had a heart to heart. We gave her leftover meatloaf for dinner , let her sit on the sofa between us while we watched television, and promised her that we and the cats would become her family. And we have. She loves her walks and if I happen to drop the leash, she stops to wait for me to catch up. She loves her meals, can crawl for half a mile on her belly with her tail wagging when she’s happy, and loves to roll in the grass, beside herself with her lot in life. She howls in excitement when we come home and though she’s not much for kissing, she sits as close to us as she can get without being swallowed. She’s even made peace with the cats, as long as they don’t try to eat her food. She doesn’t challenge them in any way, just puts that masked face between them and the bowl and they back off.

The dog who was shy when we brought her home wore a fluffy orange and black collar for Halloween and answered the door with me to dispense candy. A Ninja and a ballerina thought she was ‘Awesome!’ A mother even took her photo.

We love her to pieces. Walking her keeps our arthritic bodies moving, and loving her keeps our hearts pumping and strong. I defy anyone to find a better dog anywhere that one who appreciates having been rescued.

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